Control
by Kita Samuelle
Summary: But the man I'm watching now, he has control. So much of it. He controls everything I have no power over. Including me. Episodic fic for Brainwashed. Oneshot.


A/N: Just something I wrote while looking through clips for making a new fan vid.

Disclaimer: I've written fifty fics for this fandom and yet, I still don't own LFN.

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My mind is a whirlwind. Thoughts twisting around more thoughts, layers of memories and ideas overlapping and changing so fast I can't make sense of them.

I know what I need. The one thing stronger than my dizzy head is the throb of a single piece of knowledge: I need that machine. The phasing shell. I have the need of control. To conquer, if not myself here in Section, then in my own past. Give me at least that much, it feels so good.

I'm laying on my back, swollen feet in water. I had been up all night, planning a way to break in to that room. To get another look in to the horrors of my past. Imagining what I could fix next time. It's so tempting that I can't tell myself to stop obsessing over it. I'm past convincing myself out of this idea.

I know what I need. I just had to figure out how to get back in to it.

The visions that have been haunting me might also be the reason I haven't slept in two nights. Frightening images I hadn't expected. So real, yet not. Are they a figment of my imagination or simply a new terrorism resort that I haven't figured out yet? Am I in real danger or is this mind, so busy, ever restless, only projecting out my greatest fears after conquering my lived ones?

I can't figure it out. I can't be sure. So I lay here, sleepless and in need, trying to sort through my ideas, poorly conceived.

Tears of exhaustion start to mix with the tears of fear and confusion. My face is already red and puffy, I need a cure for whatever I've gotten myself in to.

My eyes drift close, not listening to my demands. I can't go to sleep. Just in case...no, I can't let the monsters of my dark past come back. But my mind is quieting. The lull of my body, aching with need of sleep, starts to call out to me. A pain in my head that races through my veins, has been plaguing me all day. But now it's slowly, it's softening. I'm drifting away, I can feel it. I have no control. I never do. I need the phasing shell.

A knock at the door startles me back to the present. That dark adrift that had overtaken me still lingers, but the light is beginning to shine through again. Someone is at my door. Definitely something I wasn't expecting. Who'd be visiting at this hour? Who'd be knocking?

I fear that I know who it might be, so I hop off the counter and wash my tears away, waking myself further. I go to answer the door, keeping the chain in place.

Michael's carefully masked face betrays no reason of why he stands before me now, but I can guess. Section most likely sent him to see how I was doing, or what, for that matter. More research on the machine that I'm not allowed to go near again.

He asks first why I didn't answer the phone, more indication that he's not here on his own accord. Yet why would I expect him to be? Whether he's here for himself or to gather information, he wants in the apartment either way.

"It's not a good time now," I tell him, not wanting to get in to details. He always knows when I lie. At least my words ring true.

Closing the door, I start to walk away. My head is throbbing again, angry that it didn't get what it wanted. Well, I didn't either.

A loud bang makes me jump in fright, my first thoughts running to the idea that it was one of my hauntings, back for more of my fright. But it's not. It's Michael, who just broke my door and now scans my apartment.

He thinks I'm hiding something or perhaps, someone. To give him credit, it wouldn't be the first time.

He knows something is wrong. He won't leave until he finds out what it is. More Section scouting, or for true concern?

"What is going on?" He demands, his attention back to me.

I avoid looking at him. He can read eyes and facial expressions too well for my own good. I don't want to lock eyes with Section's best. I know I can not fool him. I don't know what I'll find there, or what he may reveal in mine. Not all in my soul is new, old feelings still linger. Has he seen them already, or will he here, now that my guard is down? The pounding in my head eases that worry and presses the matter at hand. The shell. I need the shell. I need control. I need more. I'm shaking so badly, I need to give my body what it needs. I need to ease this pain. I need so much.

"I'm just working a few things out. Do you...do you think I could get back in the shell? Just one more time? Please?" Please, God let him say yes. Let him have a break in character and have some compassion for me.

His look is serious, yet there is something else that dwells the depths of his green eyes. I can't make it out, I don't care enough. Not now. Just give me what I need.

His touch startles me. I never know what to expect from him, touch is always something that is unexpected. He wants me to look him in the eye. I do.

"I'll get you through this, Nikita."

Hope, hope fills me. Will he help me after all?

"But we can't do it now."

My soaring soul crashes in to the ground. He doesn't understand. He doesn't know my need. His control over me is costing me the control I need for myself. "Please Michael, please?" The tears sting my eyes, I can't lose this fight. Not this one.

But instead of letting my pleas go to heart, he shuts down. Tells me to pull myself together, I'm on a mission. We'll be leaving too soon. Why doesn't he understand? Can he be that uncaring?

"Just one more time! Just one more-"

Again, his touch upon my skin is unexpected, but even more so now. I feel the sting of his backhanded slap, but my head, full, still so full, goes back a few chapters in my eyes. I can see my mother, her multiple boyfriends. Men on the street, looking for more than I offered. Angered dealers, scared teenagers. They all did the same thing, splaying their high emotions upon my body. Michael is now another one. I didn't expect that, nor the harsh rejection of my need. How can he react like that? How can he be so unfair?

My chest restricts as the tears, the sobs, the pain collide together inside me. I can't control myself any more, it all hurts too much. But he grabs my arms, tells me to look at him. Why? Why can't he see what I'm going through?

The seriousness of his voice draws me back. "Look at me! You can do this," he assures, continuing on about too many questions and suspicions among the higher powers if I'd back out now. No, it wouldn't look good. But I can't control myself enough to care. To pull myself together. To do as he requests.

He brushes my cheek, pushes my wild hair back from my face. His other hand does the same, caressing over the place where he had hit me before. The intensity in his words and eyes are still there, but it shifts to mean something else. Perhaps he is concerned about me, or at least concerned for himself. His expression softens, but not the look in his eyes.

His hands are cool and strong, comforting me in a way I hadn't been for so long. The pounding in my head started to stop. The need for control started to slow. The affects of the shell were fading in the light of Michael's eyes. He was shining through it all, his strength becoming my own. And slowly, I start to accept what he's saying. What he needs from me. My body, though melting from the intense way he continues to stare at me, starts to come together, back on my team instead of someone else's.

"I'll be close." A promise, whispered softly. Not a command, but for comfort and security.

I nod, soaking up his attention, letting him know he was getting to me. I regret it a moment later, his hands leaving my face, the skin tingling from airflow kissing where his hands had left.

But he's still looking at me. His eyes still search me, making sure I'm all right. He tells me to get ready, then watches as I leave to do as he wishes. He doesn't move to leave, promising that he'll stay to make sure I do as he asks, and that I'll be alright completing it.

His hands have left me, his eyes no longer follow. But I can still feel them upon me. They fill my heart, his words penetrating straight to the place it means most. I feel secure. Comforted. All that ails me is still there, but they're muted and light. Almost like an after thought, pushed to the back of my mind. In the front, it was busy evaluating each word, each look, each touch, while telling my heart to stop beating as hard as it was. It didn't mean anything. I was looking too close, too hard. But that didn't stop my pulse from racing, my soul from lifting from the ground.

I grab the clothes I had for missions already and drape them on to my flimsy body. When I finished, Michael stood by the door, holding the broken chain in one hand, his cell phone in another, ordering a replacement for what he had broke.

He promised he'd get me through this. He promised many things during our three years together. So many, he'd broken. My trust, he trampled on effortlessly. Yet I put it back in his hands now, the plans for breaking in to the room with the phasing shell now gone. I believe him, once again. I trust him. He said he'll get me through this. So he will.

Slowly, I'm starting to figure all of this out. I still have no control over anything. Myself, my situation, my demons, my job. And I see now that maybe I never will.

But the man I'm watching now, he has control. So much of it. He controls everything I have no power over. Including me.

I may never have it, but this man - this quiet man who never shows emotion or ever loose with words - he has it. My mentor, my...what? Friend? Not quite, but there's the possibilty of so much potential. If only he'd stop changing the tides, the rules, the game. Maybe I could find my footing so that I could see glimpses, however small, of my future. Our future. But he won't allow me to, so I can't.

It doesn't change the basic laws though. I'm helpless. I must rely on this man to lead me sure and steady.

Somehow, I still feel that security he had placed in me earlier. It's still there, without fear and with little doubt.

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